


Love Shifts Shape

by bygosscarmine



Series: Sky High: Reunions [2]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Demisexuality, F/M, Gaming, Geek Love, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-High School, Rarepair, Romance, School Reunion, Sky High - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygosscarmine/pseuds/bygosscarmine
Summary: Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild "I'm in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers" sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she's kept up with at the party.Then, for a second she doesn't recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.Features the grown up Magenta as bassist in a popular band and Ethan as a doctoral candidate in the neuroscience of Supers, both gamers who need to get past teenage fumbles to be happy.
Relationships: Magenta | Layla Williams, Magenta/Ethan, Magenta/Ethan (Sky High), Warren Peace/Layla Williams
Series: Sky High: Reunions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560979
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Back For a Limited Time Only

Coming down into Baltimore, Magenta stared from the plane at the citylights glinting off the water. Cars ran through the urban landscape in their binary directions, mapping its arteries in red and white cells. It had been some time since she’d flown into this airport, even longer since she’d done it alone. Strange how that made her on edge. The jolts of landing from a flight usually gave her a thrill, but today it felt just like being shoved around in a crowd after a long day.

The airplane finally stopped moving, and soon the passengers heard the bing of permission to remove their seatbelts. Magenta hadn't flown business class, since she couldn't exactly write off a trip home, so she had to wait for the many rows ahead of her to clear. Even when it was almost her turn to leave the plane, she was forced to lean uncomfortably on the back of her seat, stooped, as the people in front of her wrestled large bags from overhead bins.

She turned her cellphone back on while she waited and saw a message directed at her in the messaging group with her high school friends. _When's your flight arrive?_

 _Just now,_ she replied.

Someone asked, _When will you leave?_

_Day after the party._

It felt weird to not to be going home--but not all bad. It was one less thing to dread, though she'd get a lecture from her mother eventually. She was dreading the reunion enough.

The rental car kiosk was thankfully not over-run at this time of night, so she got a car without too much delay and drove to her hotel. In the pull-through lane in front of the lobby, she handed over her car with luggage to a valet, taking only the disreputably worn-in messenger bag with her wallet and phone that had accompanied her into the plane cabin as well. As she walked into the lobby a middle-aged man with the distinctive style of a traveling businessperson was complaining to a clerk, though he spared a moment's attention to giving her a critical look.

Apparently women in smokey eye-makeup and torn jeans didn't fit his image of the Royana establishment.

"Yeah," he said, in that exasperated tone conveying he felt he was being really patient, "I really feel like I should get an upgrade, every other location I've been to has a free shuttle from the airport."

"I'll see what I can do, sir," said the junior clerk, while glancing into the side-office.

The senior staff-member who emerged at this moment saw Magenta and said, "Ah! Ms. Notani. Welcome. We have your Premier Suite ready for you. Just give me a moment to activate your key."

"Certainly," said Magenta. "And please upgrade this gentleman's suite as one of my guests. Thank you."

The man looked flabbergasted (and not necessarily pleased) but Magenta just took her key-card and headed toward the elevators.

She was only in a split second of the advertisement featuring Kitt, the frontwoman of her band The Wastelanders, but the members all had Ambassador status with this hotel. It was nice; if she had to stay in a hotel in her own hometown, it was at least a ritzy one. Her luggage was brought up only moments after she arrived, with a complimentary cheeseboard from room service. It had been a while since she'd given cheese a hard look, but with reunion looming old memories were being dredged from the deeps. There had been a few months in school when pranking her with cheese had been a thing. She'd found it in her locker, left on her usual seats in class, and even (she suspected some of the meaner upperclassman of this one) written over her gym shirt with the kind that sprayed from a can.

Well, she couldn't let them get into her head already. She ate some of the goat feta on the rosemary crackers, and put the rest in the fridge.

* * *

She spent the next day pretending to catch up on her correspondence. Somehow she kept getting sidetracked into checking into one of the particularly dumb games on her phone instead. She gave up around three in the afternoon, and started to get ready though it was four hours before the event started. And she wasn’t getting dressed in something that required several hours to dress, either. The coded phrase for the reunion had been business casual, but Magenta didn’t believe in this barren subset of style and owned nothing resembling it. She’d be wearing some of the cigarette jeans the stylist for their tour had talked her into buying which ended up too tight for a night of jumping around on stage, and a blouse she’d picked up before her flight. It looked too dressy for her, so she figured it would work.

She zipped herself into the boots Kitt called "Maj's wingmen" and confronted herself in the mirror. “Am I going to have to get a warm-up drink?” she asked herself. “No, if I’m buzzed when I show up they’ll assume rock star cliches about me.”

It seemed ridiculous she was anxious. It wasn't like this was a group of strangers. Layla would be there. They regularly hung out when Magenta was in town—moreso now Layla lived with Warren, who had a decent living room for video game nights. Dorm apartments were only almost big enough to live in.

She struck out for the hotel bar, but ordered an espresso macchiato instead of liquor. A different kind of buzz would have to do.

There had been debate among the reunion committee, apparently, about having it in the Sky High gym. But aside from the fact that their first dance in the gym had been crashed by a villain, and afterward never felt quite the same to them again, there was the issue of getting a group of adults onto a shuttle in a timely manner. So instead the party was being held at a banquet hall. Because there were some security-risk people in their number, like Stronghold, it was a banquet hall in a government building where they could hire a few bouncers and be fairly assured that any intruder would at least be seen entering, and hopefully heard.

It also meant approaching the place felt a little like walking up to a bank. It looked fancy but not particularly welcoming.

Once she'd followed a couple she didn't recognize from behind to the actual banquet room, though, the crowd was a little less overpolished. Stronghold himself was apparently watching the entrance like a hawk. He bounded over to shake Magenta’s hand with a big grin, and then decide they should hug instead. He was wearing one of the signature Stronghold-color sweatshirts (where did he get those? Were they special made? She had never wondered about this until now) and carpenter jeans that surely were no longer being sold in stores.

“It’s so good to see you. How have you been? A band, right? You’re in a pretty big band! How is that?”

This kind of clueless greeting would be more annoying if Will weren't so incredibly sincere. He was owning that he hadn't been paying close attention, but that now, in this moment, he was interested in hearing more. She knew they'd be cut off before she said anything significant, but that he'd remember anything she did manage to say.

"Yeah, we've been touring most of this year. Feel like we're really building a good fanbase that shares a lot with each other, not just people who come to our concerts, now."

"That's awesome. Must feel great to kind of connect people. Oh, hey, have you talked to Freya? She's just back from teaching violin in Poland! As a cover for her other work, of course. You guys should talk!"

Magenta felt like this was the kind of tenuous connection neither she nor Freya would value the way Will thought they might, but she didn't resist. When reintroduced by Will, it became clear that he had heard about as much from Freya of her life as he had from Magenta. Magenta recognized her as the ice-power girl who had been held back to their grade after the second half of her sophomore year had been dedicated to recovering from a concussion and reconstructive surgery after a particularly poorly thought-out gym activity. Though Freya was a classical musician working as a superhero and Magenta was just a rock bassist, after a few awkward exchanges they discovered a shared a passion for the same fantasy thriller TV shows. They talked vampire casting aesthetics until Freya's old best friend arrived and pulled her away to get drinks.

Magenta both wanted a drink and wanted to not get tipsy around people so soon. Why was Layla not here yet? She was usually timely. Maybe she had tried to convince Warren to come--a losing proposition. There were few things Warren hated more than school functions, and one of those things was making nice at a stilted party. This was both of those things. Love blinded people, so Layla still tried to talk him into stuff he didn't want. As far as Magenta could tell, Warren got his way when he cared about something enough, but a lot of the time he was happy to do whatever Layla cared about.

Magenta had always really gotten Warren's antisocial bit. She'd just never had the balls to go hard-mode with it the way he did.

As she was trying to judge what circle it would pain her least to linger her way into when she heard an unfamiliar voice behind her say, "Hey Maj, how's it going?"

For a second (later she couldn't say why) she looked into the smiling face without recognition. Finally, though, logic suggested that a black young man in this somewhat white-washed crowd could only be one person. This took a split-second only, then she was ashamed. It was the overall expression of his face that confounded her most--by graduation he'd been already considerably taller and socially graceful. This man, though, had self-awareness.

"Hey!" she said, as if she hadn't missed her beat. "Please tell me the rumors are true and the cash bar isn't too far from here."

"I think it's true, but I cannot confirm," Ethan said, "I don't drink anywhere there are so many supers all together."

"That seems wise," she said.


	2. Let's Blow This Juke Joint

It shouldn't be such a shock. Ethan had been smiled upon by the gods of adolescence going into senior year. Still, he'd now filled out a still-gawky frame with a toned build that mingled nicely with the keen intellect in his eyes. Maybe it was the suit--he had decided business-casual meant a light gray suit and black crop-collared button-up. Granted, he was in academia now. He probably had a reason to own suits.

Magenta tried to remember that the casual side of business casual suited her. But the moderate plunge of her blouse now seemed too conservative instead of daring.

She was both keenly aware that she shouldn't be worried about how sexy she had dressed, around _Ethan_ , and also aware that apparently she now was self-conscious around Ethan. ETHAN _._

"I just installed the new Call of Sacrifice game," he said. "I sent you a team invite, but you didn't seem to get it. Been too busy traveling?"

"Not too busy to play," she said, trying to recenter herself. Right, she and Ethan were video game buds. "I just can't get a good enough connection to get it all linked up. Should have time when I get back to my apartment in a few days."

"You aren't staying to visit longer?"

"No." Her ruefulness about this was more real than when she'd said the same thing to her mother. "Been on the road constantly for months now. I just want to get back to my place. But--"

Some of the other Support Track kids then glommed onto them, assuming they weren’t barging in on a private conversation. Which they weren’t—technically. Magenta tried not to be impatient with the niceties, or be too obvious about scanning for other people. _Warren, you are my icon,_ she thought, _and next time I will follow your ways._

Apparently she should have been more dedicated about scanning the room for threats. When Zach managed to come up behind her and say, "Hey, Maggie! What's up?" she jumped internally and nearly did so externally, too.

"Oh, Zach. Hey."

His unlikely hair was cut in a more mature-appearing crop, and he wasn't in the neon sweatsuit that had once been his unfortunate signature, but his face hadn't changed much. Nor, apparently, had his inability to read the room.

"It's so good to see you. I didn't think you would make it. Or should I call you Majesty now?"

"Uh, not really," said Magenta. She had never gone by Maggie, though, and Majesty might be an improvement.

After all, it was her legal name. For a while the band had all used monikers they thought were cool, with hers being settled on by Kitt as a sort of reverse default. Magenta had chosen her moniker before high school, and it felt oddly appropriate to reclaim her birth name for the stage.

But once the people who really followed them found out the names they called each other, the other monikers had gone by the wayside. And her bandmates refused to call her Majesty.

"So how long are you in town for?"

The circle around her and Ethan had now separated into two cells, leaving her coupled up with Zach.

"I'm going home right away. This is the last stop of a long trip." In this case, she was glad to say it. "How have you been? You're doing support work in the city here, right?"

His face took on an expression of seriousness that seemed more like a character than a shift in mood. "Yeah, I'm working with a couple of heroes, still feeling things out. I think I actually might be on track to become a partner, rather than an assistant, so I don't want to lock myself down, you know?"

"Yeah, makes sense," said Magenta. She couldn't say more without risking sounding patronizing, but right now Zach seemed like a parody of himself. Trying to come across adult, but somehow overly optimistic about his powers and his opportunities.

Granted, she was someone who'd been extraordinarily lucky, and may he would be, too.

"Well, if you're not leaving town too early tomorrow, maybe we could get coffee, breakfast?" Zach asked.

Magenta stared at him for a second.

"OK, geez," he said, defensively. "It was worth a shot."

The tone reminded her painfully of the night that had led their something-like-a-relationship to end. She instantly felt a smolder of rage, but pushed it down. Zach hadn't done anything wrong. This time.

(His hand had been on her thigh. "Don't," she said. "We should try making out," he'd said casually. "I don't want to," she'd said, feeling stupid. She liked him okay, they were dating, why didn't she want him to kiss her. "I bet I can get you in the mood," he'd said, and stroked her leg. And then she'd punched him in the ear, and he'd said, "Geez! Sorry." But he had wanted her to apologize, too, and she hadn't.)

A few of their old friends were staring, so she shoved him, playfully, and said, "You'll never grow up, Neon. I'm going to the bar."

He pretended to laugh, and let it go.

Ethan found her leaning on the bar, waiting for her G&T to be made by the bartender who was creating three cosmos first.

"You started to say something, before we were attacked by wayward acquaintances," he said.

"I was going to say, this party seems like it's going to blow, let's have an afterparty at my place. The TV in my room is a monster."

"That would be fun, but my girlfriend's expecting me to bail back to her house. Have you seen Layla?"

"No. It's weird she's not here yet. I thought she was just late from trying to talk Warren into coming."

Ethan laughed at that--his new, bass-timbered laugh that fell with weight even when he was keeping it light.

They talked about landmarks in the city that had changed since she'd moved away, and when she got her drink they moved to a group that included Freya and a man Magenta suspected to be the kid who'd loaned her the first FPS she ever played. They were talking loudly about the recent sci-fi movie that had gotten missile logistics so wrong even Sky High freshmen would know. This was the kind of debate they were into, and when Ethan contributed some data on the neuroscience that had been got right, they were adopted immediately into the coven.

Magenta ignored a pulse from her cellphone, but when another came right after it she pulled it out to see who had so much to say in such a hurry.

Sorry, the message from Layla read, I know you are expecting to see me. Warren was in an accident: he's OK!!! but I don't want to leave.

The second read: At the hospital now, but maybe I can see you before you leave town?

"Oh, wow," said Magenta. The group turned, curious, but she only looked up at Ethan, whose arm leaned into hers as he tried to see the screen she was showing him. "Layla's not here because Warren was in an accident. He's alright," she hurried to say, realizing now why Layla had front-loaded that information.

"That's awful," said Freya.

"You want to go visit her?" Ethan asked in an undertone.

"Yeah," Magenta said. She glanced around. There was a bustle by the portable stage where some nostalgic event was being set up. Zach's signature highlighter hair was bobbing to the music close to the speaker, in a circle of people from the year after theirs.

"You wanna come, too?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

On their way out, after surprisingly few stops to "catch up", they came up against the genial wall of Stronghold.

"Where you two headed?" he asked, looking sly.


	3. Never Meet Your Heroes

Ethan glanced at Magenta, but she knew that any tension between Layla and her ex was of the kind that attends staying friends after a teen breakup.

"Warren was apparently in an accident," she said. "Layla says he's fine, but she doesn't want to leave the hospital."

"Oh, definitely," he said. "Wow. You going to go there?"

He looked around, definitely weighing his importance to the event as the chair of the reunion committee for their year, versus the claims of Layla.

"I don't think I can leave yet," he said. "You'll let me know what's going on, though, right?"

"Sure," said Magenta.

Their way was unblocked. After a little scuffle about whose car to take to the hospital, in which Ethan insinuated she didn't know her way around her own city, and she insinuated he was a misogynist (and possibly a racist, too) they drove their cars separately to the hospital so no one would have to get a ride back to midtown.

When they arrived, Layla was lingering in the vacant-feeling lobby of the ER in respose to Magenta's text.

"Oh, I'm so happy to see you," said Layla, and she threw herself on Magenta with a hug. "Both of you."

She more gingerly hugged Ethan, who folded her in and said, "I'm so sorry, how scary. Was he on his bike?"

"Yeah. Honestly, it's a wonder he isn't in worse shape. He's been insisting to everyone he learned how to roll properly. I went to that class in high school, too, but could never have done it."

"When did it happen?" Magenta asked, since Layla seemed to be about to cry with gratitude.

"About 4? I didn't know until they called me, half an hour later, and I was checking him in when I realized about the reunion..."

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it," said Ethan soothingly, recognizing a Layla stress-spiral coming on. "No one thinks you should be anywhere else."

"Have you eaten?" Magenta asked.

"No, no, I couldn't even think about it. But I will have to stay here tonight--well, they'll let me and I want to. I was thinking about going home, but..."

"Yeah, go. We'll stay here. Magenta and I can catch up a little and you can get a toothbrush, some snacks. Does your mom know?"

"My mom doesn't like Warren much," Layla said.

She was really distressed, to be admitting that so bluntly.

"Your mom doesn't want you here at the hospital without any support, no matter what she feels about Warren," Ethan said. "But if not, call Will's mom. We can help you tonight, but they'll help you over the next few days, OK? You don't have to do it by yourself."

They went with Layla, who continued to rattle along the things she was thinking of getting or tasks she needed to do while back at the house, until they got to the room and she fell silent.

They gingerly made their way in after, though there was clearly not enough room for so many around the bed.

Not even Warren could make a raw asphalt burn on the side of the face look good, and the bandaging on his arm was heavy, while tubing running to his other arm indicated pain medication or blood loss. Layla had a hand over her mouth and Magenta took her arm so they could go talk in the hallway.

"You said he was OK, but if he's checked in, does that mean he needs surgery?"

"They've got him under surveillance. I mean...well, whatever the medical word is. He's being monitored for any issues, because he was unconscious when the ambulance arrived. His arm was set but they'll do more looking tomorrow and see if it needs surgery. They just want to be sure he doesn't have any internal bleeding. He seemed lucid and normal when I got here, but he was still in shock, I think."

"Nothing wrong with being careful," said Ethan. "I expect they don't think anything more is wrong with him, but they have to follow procedure."

He was comforting Layla with this cool logic, and apparently it helped. Layla said, "Thanks so much for staying with him, guys. Call me right away if--if anything!"

They assured her and she walked out of the hospital wing.

After a short pause, Ethan opened the door to the hospital room, and held it for Magenta. She walked through it.

Warren's room had two beds, but he had no roommate. Magenta sat on the bed across from him, and frowned a little at the sagging movement as Ethan sat by her.

"Did you text your girlfriend to let her know not to expect you?"

"No."

Her eye fell from a watchful gaze on Warren's chest rising and falling as it should to the dark hand pressed into the mattress a few inches from hers. She was just thinking of asking some probably dumb question about the girlfriend when Warren spoke gruffly, "You clowns think you're nurses or something?"

"We're bodyguards, obviously," said Ethan, with all the mock-sincerity of a man who remembered being the smallest guy in the school for both freshman and sophomore year, and still spent his workdays at a computer screen.

"I can't sleep with you guys staring at me. Get out."

Ethan sighed with an elaborate shrug at the ingratitude, while Magenta told Warren, "We're blaming you when your girlfriend slits our throats."

She stalked out, rather relieved, and slumped into one of chairs in the waiting room beyond the rooms in this wing. The smell of hospital was overwhelming, but at least the beep of machines abated somewhat under the reruns of stilted game shows patter.

Ethan did not sit beside her again, instead taking a chair across the room, an awkward distance.

"What was your research project on, again?" she asked, having discarded the idea of asking about his current girlfriend as too loaded.

"Currently it's on the function of the amygdala in crisis, but I don't think you want the details on that."

"You said you were going to be doing research on supers, though."

"Yeah. So, a good deal of the research I'm doing now is comparing, to see if there are any significant variants between activity in the brain of those with powers and those without."

"Just to compare what makes the difference between us? Or will it build to something else?"

"Eventually, I hope to have enough data collected to do one on how minor and major powers differ."

This last phrase came out in a slightly different tone, and Magenta looked at him closely. His eyes shifted to the side, and he forced himself to stay still. It was important to him, this idea. He hadn't told her anything about it, had probably put her off with the bland sound of his research so he didn't have to mention it. Well, it wasn't like Ethan to not have a much bigger picture plan, which is why she'd kept asking.

"You think it may be an actually measurable difference, not just random?"

"No," he said, "I think that most people believe it is something innately different, and we need to prove that untrue or nothing will change."

There was a tint of anger in his voice that she understood very well, but still surprised her.

So she waited, eyes on him.

"You know what it's like," he said. "Even your own family are always vaguely disappointed in you, because your gift, which is just a part of your self, isn't enough. So some of us hide behind our big brains, and some of us hide in rock-n-roll."

"My mother didn't mind my super-power, actually," said Magenta drily, "just the rock-n-roll."

"Everyone else let you know that your power wasn't good enough, though, didn't they?"

"True."

Actually, Magenta wasn't sure if she would have been able to tell if her power was another disappointment to her family, in the medley of things that had become a wash of distance and reproach by the time she was old enough to really understand. She'd assumed so for a long time, but in one of her recent conversations with her mother, though it had ended stiffly, her mother had said, "I do not care what you do with your power, if only you will be part of the community. Why do you think it's better to leave?"

"I think," Magenta said, "that really it just layers over whatever family issues are already there. Then you come to the world with whatever cracks you have in your self-esteem and other people try to mask theirs by pretending only you have issues."

"That sounds like the seed of a rock song."

"Funny you mention that, did I tell you I write songs for a band? It's a pretty good band, too."

Ethan smiled then, a real smile--one that started as a grin, then as their eyes stayed on each other melted toward something sweeter.

Magenta's text tone interrupted, and she remembered he was going home to a girlfriend.

"Layla?" he asked.

"Yep." She read the message, _Everything OK???_ and typed back, _Totally great, your bf is well enough to be a jerk, don't worry_

_He could be a jerk on his deathbed,_ Layla typed back, with a cry-laughing emoji.

Magenta slid her phone back in her pocket, sat up and tried to smooth out her blouse where it had crinkled as she'd leaned on her knees.

"Who was the most changed tonight?" Ethan asked. For a bit they talked about who they'd noticed, who they hadn't seen. Then he said, "I saw Zack talking to you. Didn't seem like it went well."

"How could it? He refuses to grow up."

"I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I don't think he's great, but I think sometimes around certain people we revert to how we were when we were last around them, you know?"

"I guess."

She thought about this a moment. Her own immature response to Zach trying to reconnect in his blundering way. He'd never been subtle. She'd always been defensive. She sighed.

"You're right." She stood up. "I'm going to peek in on Warren, since clearly Layla is not busy enough to forget to ask."

There was something hanging in the air between her and Ethan that was too much like regret.

Warren was staring at the ceiling, apparently no longer wanting to sleep. He glanced over at Magenta, and said, "You clean up nice, kid rodent."

"Thanks. They burned all my choker necklaces when they signed us to the label."

"I wondered about that. Sorry I ruined your reunion, too." His voice was scratchy, as if his throat had been punched. She didn't know if that was just from pain or bruised ribs.

"I'm only sorry you ruined my plan to crash your place to play video games."

"What's Ethan doing here?"

"He came to check in on Layla, too. She needed to go get things to stay overnight, so we're staying until she gets back."

"No, but why would he do that?"

Magenta had not thought to wonder about this.

"A good excuse to leave the reunion?"

Warren gave his quick smile, only to wince slightly at the pulling on his scraped face.

"That makes sense."

Magenta left him and found Ethan standing in the hallway.

"I probably should get going," he said. "Layla will be back soon, and Warren's doing OK."

"Yeah, no need for you to stay," said Magenta, though she was a little disappointed.

"Which hotel are you staying at? You fly out tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, I'm at the Royana. Have a good night," she said.

He had looked like he was about to say something, but her dismissal had stopped him. Whether she'd pre-empted herself from inviting him to meet up tomorrow or pre-empted him from having to make excuses to not meet her again, she wasn't sure. But they didn't hug each other goodbye, and that felt a little cold but necessary.

He had gotten tall enough it would have been an awkward hug, anyway. People around the same size were easier to hug casually.

Layla came back and Magenta left with a promise to bring her coffee in the morning before she left, so they could catch up.

Her hotel room was as nice as it had been when she entered it, but the air conditioner was turned too low. When she turned it back up, the kicking off of the fan left it too quiet.

She rolled into bed, and tried to let the unsatisfying day go.

There was the chime of a text from her phone. Checking to see if Layla had some news, she instead found that Ethan had asked, _When is your flight tomorrow?_

She ignored it, and put the phone back on the night stand, ringer turned off.

It buzzed at her again. Annoyed, she angled it to see. _Don't be a punk. I should have asked earlier, but I was distracted._

Sure, he'd been distracted.

_Are you texting me from your girlfriend's house right now?_ She furiously replied.

_No._

Layla or no Layla, she turned her phone off.


	4. With Friends Like These?

In the morning she woke to a few messages from Layla, and a series from Ethan. She read Layla's first. One was reassuring her that the doctors thought Warren would be fine, but getting him released would take some time in the morning. The next said Magenta didn't need to bring her anything.

 _Don't be ridic,_ Magenta texted back. _I want to see you, and I leave this afternoon._

She did not open the texts from Ethan, not particularly won over by the preview she saw of the latest one. She dressed, packed, checked out, and went to the best coffee place in the hospital's vicinity, picking up three coffees in various styles for herself, Layla, and Warren, as well as some baked goods.

She turned down the hallway she thought held Warren's room, then all doubt disappeared.

"You didn't read my texts," Ethan said, by way of explanation.

"I came to see Layla," Magenta said, outraged.

"She's busy checking Warren out right now. Come on, I have to talk to you."

He looked tense. Magenta rolled her eyes, but she knew she'd do what he asked.

"Let me get the coffee to her. Is she in the lobby now?"

"They both are."

"Warren looking OK this morning?"

He turned back with her, said, "Yeah, if you like that kind of thing."

The elevator doors closed around them, and Ethan took up a spot leaning against the wall so he faced her.

"You know how I said we sometimes revert around people we knew at a different time in life?"

"Yeah," she said, refusing to make eye-contact.

"I'm guilty. I did something dumb last night, because I reverted to a seventeen year old prick."

"Please don't tell me anything about your fight with your girlfriend until we are off this elevator and I have given this stuff to Layla."

He obliged by staying silent, putting his back to the elevator wall instead of turning toward her. This meant she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in another suit, though this was a neutral gray with a plain white shirt. He filled it well, and she suspected it was tailored the way her band got their tour clothes done. His hair still had the same curl but his haircut was sharp--shaved close at the sides of his head, a quarter-inch length at the top shaped neatly.

She remembered the anger he'd slipped into revealing the night before, about being a person of power that had no heroic applications, what he said about compensating.

"I don't think we need to hide behind anything anymore," said Magenta. "We've done more than many people do, whether they have powers or not. And if you ever need a subject with a weirdly lame shapeshifting ability, you know who to call."

He looked at her sharply, but didn't answer. The elevator opened at their floor.

Layla was easy to find in the scatter of the clerks, after which Magenta spotted Warren sprawled only a little too stiffly on a chair close by.

"Have some coffee," Magenta said, trying to sound casual. "I'll be hanging around when you're done."

"Thanks," Ethan said to Layla, mysteriously.

Then he led Magenta to a somewhat sad landscaped area with a bench. Magenta plopped onto it and with a dramatic sigh opened her texts. "Okay, what did you have to say so late last night while you were..."

He stood just an arms-length, at attention, almost as she read:

_I was a little startled about you_

_tonight I mean_

_I mouthed off like a stupid teenager and now I have to backtrack_

_stop being difficult and call me_

She looked up.

"What startled you?" She felt immediately like she didn't want to know, and added, "The fact that I was wearing jeans without holes in them?"

Ethan ignored this bait, though.

"I thought I was over it. We were gonna say hi, and it would be just like messaging you through the game, where you're some ambiguous memory of a teenager, just slightly less moody. That we'd hit it off talking about Call of Sacrifice and stupid bets on speed-runs. And then it wasn't like that."

Warily, Magenta said, "I mean, we could talk about games now, if you want. I'm back in a baggy tee shirt, if the silk blouse was bothering you."

"It still is bothering me," Ethan said. Now they were looking at each other, he sat on the bench, getting intimidatingly close. "I saw you go through a moment of not recognizing me, too. Then I got mad when you asked me over, because I couldn't help remembering the last time I asked you out. Do you even remember?"

Her face got hot.

She had just broken up with Zack, and Ethan had come over to play X-Box. He'd casually said, "I'd take you out," when she'd made some bitter comment about Friday nights (as if she and Zach had done anything interesting on Friday nights), and she'd laughed.

It had taken her a few weeks to realize that there was a correlation between that and the way Ethan had slowly tapered off coming by her place, and sitting with her at lunch.

"Wow, you can hold a grudge, huh?"

"I can hold a crush, more like." He tilted his head to look at her, as if assessing. "I was embarrassed you'd ask me over just like that, when I spent two years trying to be not in love with you. I figured maybe it was an innocent invitation. Then we were in that waiting room last night, and I didn't really care, either way, but I had dug myself a hole with a fake girlfriend I had to get home to."

Magenta dropped her eyes down to her hands, unable to handle the intensity of his look. "I still leave town this afternoon," she said.

"And you go home where you can install Call of Sacrifice, finally," he said. He leaned in close, and said softly, "Where they have a voice-chat feature now."

She shivered, but when he moved toward her, she didn't draw back. This hug wasn't awkward, because if she buried her face in his collar to smell his restrained sandalwood cologne, it wasn't creepy anymore. The girlfriend had just been a figment of pettiness, which was kind of cute.

"You have your revenge," she finally said. "You grew up sexy, and I didn't notice over text-chat."

"Don't make me kiss you senseless in a hospital garden," he murmured, lightly brushing his lips on her temple. "When is your flight today?"

"It's not until 4:30."

He pulled back, and she stood up, finding he was holding her hand. Was reluctant to make him let go.

He got a text message, and looked at it. "Oh. Layla is hinting that they're about to leave the hospital."

Magenta told him, "I am going to spend some time with her."

He let go of her hand, and stood, too. "Then I'm going to go check in at the university, and I'll see you later."

She didn't like this practical attitude at the moment at all, so she put her hands up to draw his face close and gently kiss him.

The small breath he puffed out when their lips stopped touching told her what she needed to know.

"Am I going to meet you at the university or at your place?"

He considered this a moment, eyeing her speculatively.

"By which I mean, are we going to talk for two hours somewhere quiet, or are we going to cuddle and shoot aliens before you take me to the airport?"

"There is zero chance you can keep me from talking anyway, so let's shoot some aliens while we're at it."

If Warren and Layla noticed them walking a little too close to each other as they rejoined them, they didn't mention it.

After depositing Warren at home, Magenta took Layla to the pharmacy to fill his prescriptions and listened to her vent about her worries about Warren, her regret at missing the reunion, and how much she liked The Wastelanders' newest album. Only once they were in the backyard garden, with Warren napping in the house, did Layla finally say, "So, Ethan, huh?"

"What about him?" Magenta asked.

Layla rolled her eyes. "You two have only been the most annoying non-couple I know for seven years now."

"I was dating Zach six years ago," Magenta protested.

"So?" Layla said. "Even Ethan, the completely clueless, knew that wasn't going to last."

"Poor Zack might be the only one who didn't," sighed Magenta. "I had no idea about Ethan, though. I mean, about him now. I literally didn't recognize him for a second."

"Yeah," Layla got a cat-like grin on her face. "He's been getting finer and finer. Someone really needs to stop him."

"Back off, you already have a boyfriend," said Magenta, amiably.

"Oh, Warr is way sexier than Ethan. But he's never going to be suave like him."

"He was really good with you last night," said Magenta, "I was surprised. Where did he get social skills? I still haven't found any."

Layla laughed. "So what's next?"

"We're meeting up this afternoon." Magenta's attempt at casual was almost as transparent as Layla's skin.

"Is it going to be hot and heavy, do you think?" Layla was blushing slightly, though that didn't mean much. The hibiscus behind her also seemed to bloom a little more furiously, though that could have just been because Layla was there. "Or are you going to take it slow?"

"I honestly can't say," Magenta answered. "We left it kind of open. The theory is some video games and some necking. It's very weird, but also a relief."

Layla nodded sagely. She glanced at the house and said, "By the time Warren and I worked it out we had a lot of tension built up. But we hadn't been long distance, either."

After a thoughtful pause, she asked, "Why not delay your flight?"

"Because then I'd have to go visit my mother. And while visiting her with a boyfriend finally would thrill her, especially since he's genetically a super, I probably want to be more sure of the whole thing before I give her that string to clutch."

"I heard she did a job despite her retirement recently. Did she talk to you about it?"

"Not as much as Will Stronghold's Facebook page did," Magenta said drily. "Is he who you heard about it from?"

"No, I don't follow him on Facebook," said Layla, quite seriously. "My mom was telling me about it. She occasionally has a desire for a last fling. But I'm not surprised Will was starstruck."

Majesty Notani's mother was Radiance Arete, who shape-shifted into a hawk, and had the distinction of being the first female super honored with her own Saturday morning cartoon run. She occasionally brought this up when Jetstream Stronghold was being praised too highly in her own home. It was funny to think of a similar dynamic playing out in a different house.

Talk about parents and glory days and the inevitable comparisons filled the next hour until Warren woke up and tried to make himself nachos, which required intervention from his partner. Magenta wished him well not getting killed by his own girlfriend, and went out to her car.

She texted Ethan, as if replying to his last text.

_Am I being difficult if I say it's time to send me your address?_

He wrote back, _Come and ask me in person_ and included his apartment location.


	5. Carpe Diem, What's Left of It

When he opened the door, it took Magenta a second to figure out why she felt like smirking. Either in unconscious self-sabotage or a rather brilliant delaying tactic, Ethan was wearing his glasses, which looked exactly like the ones he'd had in high school. He'd taken off his jacket and hadn't unbuttoned his shirt at all, and it felt like a weird alternate time-warp with new Ethan in an old Ethan outfit.

He brushed her arm as she entered, though, and that made the present moment very clear.

"Any trouble finding the place?" he asked.

She gave him an exaggerated once-over. "I don't know, did I?"

He grinned. Inside she heard the load-screen music and sound effects looping of the FPS they not finished running before her last tour started. No, the tour before that?

No wonder she hadn't been prepared to see him. It had been about three years since she'd actually shot anything with him, over voice-chat or not. No wonder some part of her had missed him--because it wasn't just that she'd seen him, thought him a handsome stranger, then fallen for the new version. Maybe it had been happening all along--that's what Layla thought, and she could be right about stuff like that.

She planted herself in front of his television, noting the small, tidy apartment had more bookcases than other furniture. The side-table by the couch had a plant on it that had the somewhat dubious placement of something he possibly had bought on his way home this afternoon. She picked up the controller on her side, and pretended not to be eying him as he sat beside her, and scooted close enough they'd be elbowing each other once things got exciting.

"What kind of snacks we got?" Magenta asked, personalizing her character deftly.

"You just got to my house, and you take over my video games then ask about snacks?" Ethan heckled.

"If you want a girlfriend with some shame, please look elsewhere. My mother would tell you the same."

There was a pause, and Ethan turned to look at her with a sort of compassionate judgment.

"Your mother loves you," he said. "She's an unrecovered perfectionist, but you need to stop making digs at yourself using her voice."

For a moment their eyes locked. Magenta asked, "So are you a therapist now?"

"If you want a boyfriend with no emotional range, please look elsewhere."

Magenta couldn't look away, but she was not sure what to do. Ethan then continued, "And of course I got snacks. If you hadn't dived at the controller to be sure you got the better one I would have got them out already."

"I'm a terrible girlfriend and we haven't even started dating yet," said Magenta, when he produced a package of Oreos she hadn't noticed on a pile of books.

"Anything is a step up from the last six years you didn't think you were my girlfriend," said Ethan.

"Wait. I was not a terrible girlfriend just because you decided I should be your girlfriend on your own!"

"That's not what I mean," said Ethan. "More like, all the girls I tried to date were a step down from the not-girlfriend you were."

Magenta eyed him sideways while opening the Oreos packet. "You are an idiot. Also, we were friends. Were you always angling for more?"

He casually put his head on her leg, and gazed up at her. "Remember the last time this happened?"

Ethan, seventeen and getting too tall for her to pretend he was a kid brother to her, coming over after they'd somewhat patched up their relationship. Her saying, "If you were Zack, I'd tell you to get off."

Him replying, "Zack can't help it. You guys skipped from convenient prom dates to dating, he doesn't know how to be friends with you."

"What about it?" Magenta asked now, warily.

"If the only thing I get out of today is staying friends with you, then I'm good. I'd like more, same as always. But I didn't need more before, and I don't need more now. I like you, and I want to be near you. Even if you are a snacks-demanding, controller-stealing punk."

She knew what to do, now, though the steadiness of his look still shook her up a little. She ran her hand over the short hair on his head, petting him like a darling friend who needed reassurance--like a lover who was confessing pain.

"I've never been good with feelings," she said.

"Your writing would suggest otherwise."

"Writing is for the difficulty of feelings, you know."

"So is research," he said, musing.

She lifted his glasses off, and put them by the awkwardly poised plant.

"Hey, I need those to see the game," he complained.

Her fingers brushed his face. "We can play in a few minutes."

She wanted to get used to touching him, and Ethan was quiet, eyes closing as she continued to stroke his hair.

"It's totally fair that I got to become handsome after puberty," he murmured. "It's definitely not right that you went from adorable to sexy while still adorable."

"Adorable?" her most skeptical-teen voice emerged from the past to question this assertion.

His eyes opened with an intent look that made her face get a little warmer. Her belly, too.

In a very mature reaction to this feeling, she used her free hand to secretly start the round on the game, while Ethan's player was still in a default character-mode.

"Mother bitch," he yelled, hearing the intro sounds, and diving for his controller.

Magenta burst into laughter, pausing the game while he was still scrambling to get at least a better weapon selected.

He glared at her. "I just needed to check you weren't being mind-controlled by something weird but are really still Ethan," she explained. "I'm not used to this."

"Are you telling me none of your boyfriends were an improvement on Zack whatsoever?"

"I'm a demisexual woman touring with a rock band. When do you think I had other boyfriends?"

He gave her a look that she thought probably mirrored her own expression at being called adorable.

"Are you weirded out by that?" she considered hitting "start" again, but just stared down at her controller for the moment, because this was important.

"I'm trying to decide," he said, in a too-level voice, "if I am more impressed by my game or my dumb luck."

"You should try pressing your luck," she said.

"By showing you some game?"

"Sure," she breathed, eyes caught by his.

Suddenly the sound started up again on the game, and she shrieked as she turned her attention back to the screen. Ethan shoved behind her to grab his glasses and put them back on, mashing the "fire" button for good measure while he did it.

"You killed me!" she yelled, as her half of the split screen pulsed red.

"Well, I couldn't see you without my glasses on, could I?"

She started cackling as he went down, too. He set up his character before the next round properly, and they got sucked in to the game itself for almost an hour.

An alarm she'd set went off and reminded her she only had two hours to get to the airport.

Ethan, who was sprawled comfortably on the floor against his couch, glanced up but they finished playing through to the next save-point.

Then he said, "Time to go?"

"Unless you have a friend who wants to fly me over the traffic."

"Oh, I have a friend who wants to, but he's perpetually over-scheduled with the president."

Magenta snickered. She got to her feet with reluctance.

"Take the cookies for your flight," he offered.

"Wow, you are in love," she joked, picking the half-full package up all the same.

"Get used to it," he said. He'd rolled onto his stomach, and was looking up at her, chin on his hand.

"You not going to see me off, charm-boy?"

"I don't know," he said, "I'm not sure how."

She tilted her head to the side. This wasn't a flippant remark, but it wasn't exactly a question she had an answer to.

"And only a little while ago you were so impressed with your own game," she said, finally.

He laughed and got up to his feet. She turned toward the door, and smiled when he leaned on it, preventing her from turning the handle. He leaned in close, the woods-and-incense smell of his cologne a little more noticeable again.

"I don't want you to have to go already," he whispered.

"I know," she answered, voice as low.

"I just barely got to have you to myself."

"I know."

He leaned in further. The kiss this time was an exploration--long-lost lovers finding each other again. He was soft and demanding both, his fingers running under her jaw in reassurance. She slowly turned her back to the door, threaded her arms around his neck.

The soft lines of his nose played with hers as they took a breath, and she pressed back toward him because she didn't have time left to hesitate. His tongue burned hers, and she licked the fire. His palms tilted her head higher, and the kisses devolved to rapid strokes, pressed along her mouth, along her cheek until she pulled him too tight in a hug, body to body. Both drugged soft and feeling her skin tightly awake, she clung to his shoulders, and he breathed roughly against her hair.

"I thought it might be like this," he finally said.

He pulled back, and they stood just inches from each other, her hands on his chest, his slowly running up and down her arms. He looked a little dazed and a little grim, which made her wonder what her face showed.

"When is your flight?" he asked, a little hoarse.

"It's 4:30."

"Tomorrow?"

"Now."

"When are you coming back?"

"As soon as possible."

He let go, then, and she straightened up from the support of the door.

"Which means a lot," she added, "since I'll have to see my mother if I come back again, too."

"Meanwhile, we have Call of Sacrifice," he said. She could tell he was trying to shift gears--it was hard for her, too.

"With voice chat," she agreed.

She stepped out his door, and he waved when she was about to go out of sight.

She got her car to the rental return in plenty of time to get through security, even on a busy Sunday. She pulled her cellphone out once she was at her gate to send a message to him when she saw there were messages in the group chat.

_Anyone hook up after reunion? Couldn't go, so I'm relying on you all for gossip!_ April of the stretch-powers had asked.

_Magenta, did you have any *insight* about this?_ Layla asked.

Ethan had written _I finally have a girlfriend, I don't know about Magenta._

Magenta wrote, _I don't have a girlfriend, but I beat Ethan at several rounds of PtD, so I am aight_

Ethan texted her right after that and said, _You are the wickedest hamster I have ever met._

_Well, you are the suavest goo,_ she replied.

_Please never say that series of words again,_ he responded.

Magenta got on her plane with a smile.


End file.
